The Ones Left Behind
by BetterThanCoffee
Summary: Monk Gyatso has to pick up the pieces left behind after Aang's departure. [Companion piece to 'Too Young']


His son was gone. Those were the words that ran through Monk Gyatso's mind as he stared at the scroll lying innocently on Aang's bed in his room, which was now stripped bare. The other monks in the Council of Elders had made the decision to tell Aang that he was the avatar far too young, and now, as evidenced before him, it had become too much weight for the young airbender to handle.

Whispers of an oncoming war, led by Fire Lord Sozin's forces were in everyone's ears, creating desperation. Centuries of strict tradition and rituals had left the Air Nomads ill-equipped to deal with any sort of exterior force. With the avatar always overlooking the proceedings of the world with an iron will towards justice, the monks had grown placid about conflict. Now, with a real threat looming on the horizon, the monks were scrambling for any sort of resources.

The problem was the Council of Elders forgot that Aang was merely a boy. Gyatso fell heavily on Aang's bed, letting his head drop down into his thin hands, gnarled with age. As a close friend of avatar Roku in his past life, Aang was immediately placed as Gyatso's ward the moment he had chosen the four innocuous toys that would forever change his entire fate. Gyatso remembered that day well.

The elder monk had prepared himself to bring up the next great force of the world. Even as an adolescent, while still carrying a wicked sense of humor, Roku had been a force to reckon with. Even as he was just learning airbending, in the years that followed, he had quickly surpassed all the masters and made the element bend to his will. Air was supposed to be malleable, an intangible element that went with the flow of nature. In the hands of Roku, he could create a terrifying display of power, making everything in the path of his own currents bow to him. The look of fercious righteousness that flowed from avatar Roku as he would slice down on his opponents with a blade of air had left Gyatso staring in humbled awe.

It was with all of this knowledge, the monk was prepared to see his old friend, and the power he contained, reborn as this new life. What Gyatso did not expect was the small child, practically a baby that was placed in his arm. A fluffy patch of dark hair grew at the crown of the child's head, and as the tiny Aang stared up at Gyatso's wrinkled brow, he gave him a babyish giggle, a mouth not quite full of teeth beaming at him. This was not the Roku he had remembered. Before he knew it, Gyatso had fallen in love with the baby.

In accordance to the monk lifestyle, Gyatso would never be a father in the strictest sense, but that did not stop him from raising Aang as his own. When the child would hurt himself, Gyatso would pick him up and tend to his wounds. He would smuggle Aang extra fruit pies during special occasions, with a wink, telling him to keep it a secret from the other elders. They would never approve. Gyatso had never felt anything as magical as the feeling of Aang throwing his little chicken arms around Gyatso's waist, rubbing his face in comfort into the habit of the older monk. It was hard to imagine that he was the reincarnation of his old friend.

Of course, Monk Gyatso never had a chance to forget the fact. The other monks on the Council of Elders, particularly Monk Tashi, would often sequester him off to the side to ask him, "How is the avatar developing?" It was an odd habit the other monks had fallen into. Whenever the child in question was not around, he was referred to as "the avatar" and never "Aang." Gyatso would reassure his peers that Aang was developing like a normal, bright child, all the while fearing that he would one day have to let his son go.

This fear was further realized as he saw how quickly Aang had taken to his natural element. Never before had their temple had a child develop and master so many aspects of airbending so quickly. Aang had quickly outstripped his peers, then the older boys, and even many of the adults were left behind in his proverbial dust, as he would zoom away in the air-scooter he himself had developed. It was incredible, and when the Council of Elders called on Aang to tell him he reached master status, Gyatso became conflicted.

He knew he should be happy for Aang. Never before had a monk at their temple reach master status at such a young age. When it came time for Aang to don their symbolic arrow, Gyatso finally understood why. This was not a game for children. He held Aang's hand over the days that small needles would pierce into his skin, over and over, mixing ink and blood. Aang tried to be strong, but at barely twelve, he could not contain the small gasps and sobs that would escape from his lips. When Aang finally passed out about halfway through the proceeding, Gyatso thanked the spirits that he wouldn't be able to remember the rest of the process.

Every master of airbending adorned the arrows, meant to glide along the body, mimicking the chi paths. Gyatso had been surrounded by these tattoos his whole life, and had become quite bored with them. On Aang, however, the arrows were much different. They flowed down his body like water flowed down the stream. They accentuated his lithe frame, and Aang seemed even more in-tune with nature now that he had the arrows to balance him. It was strange to try to recall a time that the arrows did not kiss upon Aang's skin, as they seemed so ingrained in his identity.

In the eyes of their society, Aang was now a man. The arrows symbolized wisdom and maturity. Aang could be taught no more, and would now become the teacher to those around him. To Gyatso, he was still a boy. At only twelve-years old, there wasn't much maturity to be found, especially when they threw fruit pies at the other elders, or Aang would scurry off to chase the lemurs. The other boys seemed to think differently.

His peers watched Aang with a weary eye. Aang was one of the younger ones of their group, and yet he had surpassed all the boys older than him, and achieved his arrows first. They were not sure if they could still play the same childish games with someone who was supposed to be a man. Once, a boy named Jin, who was only slightly older than Aang, had asked him, "Shouldn't you be meditating with the other masters?" Aang had looked over his shoulder to see a group of masters meditating nearby, and his entire body slumped forward.

"But I would rather play," Aang responded, the whine from his lips sounding like anything other than what a master airbender should say.

Aang was torn between the two worlds of the student and the master. Gyatso watched as the conflict played across Aang's world, but that was nothing compared to the revelation that he was the avatar. Gyatso had been completely against revealing his fate earlier than the traditional age of sixteen. He had been out-voted. Fear was a greater motivator than the ramifications they might be enduring upon a child. After the meeting, Monk Tashi pulled Gyatso to the side, while stroking his long beard, pointing out from the center of his chin.

"I know you may not like this Gyatso, but he is the avatar. The avatar has a duty to this world." Tashi punctuated this point by give his beard an extra-hard tug.

Gyatso sighed, and scrubbed at his face. "But he's just a boy. Is it really within our rights to force this upon him?"

"Whether he is twelve, sixteen, or even sixty, he will always be the avatar," Tashi gripped Gyatso by the shoulder. "I know he might seem young, but the avatar has lived a thousand lifetimes. He might not know it now, but he has been confronted with this revelation many times. He physically might be a boy, but remember, Gyatso, he is spiritually much older than both you and I."

Monk Gyatso seriously doubted in the spirits supporting Aang through his internal conflict as he sat in his abandoned room. The letter Aang had so lovingly crafted for him had crumpled in his hands, ink marring the arrows peaking out of his sleeves. The Council of Elders had placed all of their hopes in the effort of the avatar, and in doing so, they had driven him away. Gyatso wanted to hold on to hope that Aang would return in a day or two, once he had time to think, but deep in his heart, he could already feel the absence. Aang was gone, and wherever he was, he wasn't coming back.

After Aang left, the mood shifted in the temple. Hope was lost for the nomads. The council talked of sending the children away, for their own safety, but no plans ever became concrete. It was as life stood still. Everyone was waiting for some sort of catalyst, and that catalyst came in the form of a comet.

The Air Nomads had always had a good relationship with the Fire Nation, but Sozin's tyranny was legendary. He valued his own race above all others, and sought to control the other nations in what he saw as an act of true valor. Gyatso could remember Roku talking cheerfully of his best friend of his youth. Roku would wax on about how smart and kind Sozin was, and Gyatso wondered what changed his disposition. Perhaps cruel intentions had always lied within the royal, simmering under his skin, and Roku could not recognize the signs. Gyatso could not blame Roku for his oversight. Love blinded all.

The monks were aware of the great power the people of the Fire Nation felt when the comet arched over the sky, and as it approached, Gyatso sought out solitude at the highest point of the Southern Air Temple. He looked down below at the grounds, memories of an easy and carefree life flashing before his eyes. It seemed so distant now. The children no longer played out in the air-ball field, the sky bisons were all corralled in the stables, and everyone walked around with an air of ennui.

"Were we wrong?" Gyatso asked, when he heard Monk Tashi approach him from behind. "About Aang? About everything?"

Tashi stood a good yard behind Gyatso, never fully approaching the other monk. "Perhaps in our execution, but Aang is definitely the avatar. He will return and save our people."

"You have so much hope in the avatar," Gyatso mused.

Tashi raised one of his incredibly thick eyebrows, "And you don't? I thought you loved the avatar."

"I love the boy," Gyatso replied. "Him being the avatar has nothing to do with my affections towards him. He is just a child, and we took that away from him. If only we waited…"

"If we waited," Tashi continued, "we would still be in the same situation as we are now. Aang might still be with us at our temple, but we wouldn't be any more prepared for what we might have to face."

The horizon began to glow orange from the incoming comet, beginning its trail across the sky. Tashi and Gyatso stood, watching the spec grow larger. Simultaneously, they both knew that whatever was about to pass would be a defining moment in their people's history.

"Now what?" Gyatso asked.

"Now we stand."

Later, as Gyatso stood in the Council Hall, surrounded by dozens of Fire Nation soldiers, all of whom outmatched Gyatso alone with the power of the comet, were overbearing in their mass of danger and destruction. Gyatso had already witnessed many of the monks fall – old and young, the Fire Nation did not discriminate. When he was climbing over bodies, Gyatso tried to not look into their faces. If he was not going to survive, as the elder monk strongly suspected, he did not want his last moments living in the quagmire of guilt that would overwhelm him with the knowledge of whose life got snuffed out too soon.

The Fire Nation soldiers bore down upon Gyatso, and no amount of his airbending skills could hold them back. With every soldier he took down, three more took their place. Screams echoed outside of the hall, and as the soldiers sent one last fiery blast en masse to the elder, he whispered his last words, "Be safe, Aang."


End file.
